This Song of Leaves
by Wind Chijmes
Summary: (2x5, angst, death, reincarnation) A painting, a voice recorder and a song from the past tell the story of a love that crossed worlds & time as one man follows his lover in honour of their pledge to always be together.


This Song of Leaves

by Wind Chijmes

A/N : It's long and there's death, which are both not very palatable, I know. ^_^ But without death, there won't be reincarnation, would there? One thing however, the theme of reincarnation in the fic remains very much an idea, without real evidence or anything. Feedback is very much appreciated! ***** : Flashback +++++ : Change of scene 

* * *

The bell at the front door tinkled merrily as light footfalls pattered across the wooden flooring. Sounds of playful bickering teased the stillness. 

He opened his eyes, lifted a thin, wrinkled hand to wave aside his aide's attempts at trying to keep the young ones away from him. He loved the children. All bright young lives, every one of them. In return, they loved his shop, they loved even him although he was not as mobile as he was once. They greeted him warmly, and were careful to keep the carelessness from their hands as they pawed through the rich array of fascinating objects and ornaments collected over the years. 

The children left soon, however, their attention span too short to be transfixed by curios for long. All left, in little streams, in ones, twos. Only two stayed behind. 

He knew which two without even having to look. They were not part of the large group of youngsters. They kept only each other company most of the time, seemingly perfectly contented to just be near the other. 

He raised a hand towards the aide. "Bring" he gestured slowly. "Bring me the painting, Hakim."

"But sir, you should rest."

"Bring it to me."

"Yes, sir."

The thick, crinkled scroll was fed into his hands, and he patted it, stroked it, feeling the texture, the warmth that tingled his skin even now. 

"Hey, you have your painting again!"

He nodded, smiled. This boy – this one – his effervescence as striking as ever. 

"Please pardon my friend, sir. He talks entirely too much for his own good."

And the friend, always courteous, always mindful of any tardiness. 

He watched them prepare to leave. They had a test, he heard them discuss it, and they needed to revise for it. They stopped at the door, and just before their youthful figures left his shop, they turned back with guileless smiles.

"See you, Mr Winner!"

  
********** **********

  
I stare up at the heavens, just watching...it awes me with its sheer majesty. No matter how many wars we have fought, how much bloodshed this planet has seen, how much destruction the colonies have been through, the heavens, the universe, still amaze me. 

I can never stay put in one place. Not even on L2, or Earth. I need to be free, in space, amongst the inky backdrop with its canopy of stars and galaxies.

Tonight, I will return it all to space. 

"What are you thinking of, Duo?"

I love the way he says my name, even when it's whispered. It makes no difference to others; but that's why it's special. It's brusque on the surface, but there's an undercurrent of warmth that is meant only for my ears. And he says it like it's precious to him. Like I'm precious to him. 

"Duo?" There. The rough, yet tender timbre again. 

It makes me all warm inside despite everything. I curl up tighter against his chest. It's a little difficult. It's been, what, seven years? I have almost four inches on him. I'm a tight fit in his arms, but he tries his best to fold all of me, as gently as he can, into himself. 

"Duo."

His voice makes me feel sad. Happy yes...and sad. It doesn't make any sense, I knowbut just sometimes, things get hard to bear. A tender hand brushes against my cheek. I raise my eyes to meet deep pools of darkest velvet. 

He holds up his fingers against the moonlight. They glisten. Tears? I touch my cheeks. True, they are wet. I don't know I am really crying. 

He turns those breathtakingly beautiful eyes back on me, and I am lost. How easily he could mould me, possess me, with just one look. I love everything about him, but at moments like these, I think I love his eyes most. So black, yet so bright. Like onyx jewels. Nomore like the space I love. Those obsidian orbs that mirrored the midnight expanse of heavens, with the stars for his pupils.

I remember every emotion ever to colour his eyes. His joy, his pain, his sorrow, his anger, his triumph, his love. Especially his love. Like how it shines in his eyes right now. It shines a little too brightly and I am not sure if it is moonlight, or tears. Tears? For me?

I raise my hand. I want to touch his eyes and take away the tears in them. Nobody should cry for me. He catches my hand midway and touches his lips to my palm. Such gentleness...he turns his cheek and closes his eyes. A flutter of lashes against the skin of my palm, and the slow trickle of a teardrop. 

Oh don't...don't...

I press my palm against the soft, damp cheek, and try to pull his face closer. My hand slips, fails. And, oh God, it hurts. I always used to cup his face to raise those sweet lips to mine. Even such a simple gesture is taken away from me. 

He captures my hand again, bringing it back to where it had lain at his face. His head dips closer to mine and I close my eyes to savour the kiss. I will never get enough of his taste. The kiss makes me breathless, but I no longer care. But he does. He always does. He pulls away to let me breathe. 

I feel the sharp pulse of anger. Do you always think a step ahead, Chang Wufei? Two steps? Always knowing exactly what goes on in my mind? 

I hate you! For seeing through everything – past the smile I have perfected, past the death that surrounds me! For allowing yourself to love Death itself! 

"I hate you," my breath chokes in my throat, making a mockery out of my own words. "God, I hate – I – "

"I love you, Duo Maxwell," he places his fingers over my lips to silence me. "And I will never leave you." A slow, sad smile, but over-brimming with love. The same love that burned just for me the first time he whispered those precious three words to me. 

I can't keep it back any more. God knows how hard I tried but those damned tears came anyway. He clutches me tighter, and I bury my face against his neck. "Don't love me!" I try to beg between sobs. "Don't! You can't – "

"But I do." 

Oh, the tone. I have heard it so many times I've lost count. The obsidian fire in his glare, the stubbornness in his jaw, that almost petulant set of his curving mouth. 

He strokes my hair with one hand, running his fingers through the waves, starting from my scalp, then all the way to the ends, and again. 

"Play something for me, Fei..."

I can feel him smile against my forehead. He shifts for a moment, carefully, gently, and fishes out a slender blade of leaf from his tunic. Lifting it to his lips, he blows across the emerald green, and the sweetest notes flowed into the wind. I never know how he does it. He has tried to teach me before, but I was a poor learner. 

Such a beautiful melody...something he conjured up in a moment of inspiration three years ago. The sound of the leaf music, raw, almost flute-like, yet more whispery, more sorrowful...Surrounding me like a warm cocoon. I press my head against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, and deeper beneath, the soothing notes of his heartbeat. 

I am so tired. 

I can barely hear the melody now; they sound but like softest tolling bells in the night air. But I can still hear his heart...its strong, steady beat pulsing beneath my cheek, whispering to me, lulling me to sleep. 

My lids are heavy. It's getting harder and harder for me to keep them open. The sleep is slowly stealing upon me. And still, those haunting notes waft around me, melding into the warmth of Fei's arms. I have never felt safer, and never happier. 

"Remember our pledge, Duo?" his lips move in my hair. 

I do remember. 

"I'll follow you wherever you go, Duo," his words sound so far away. I feel his lips against my ear, speaking, so his voice reaches deep into me. "Remember that." 

I will always remember. Always. "Fei.." I breathe into his chest. "I love you so much, y'know."

The warm darkness parts for his soft, beautiful voice. 

"I know, Duo."

The faint bitter-salty taste of tears on my lips. 

"I know."

  
++++++++++

  
Seven days.

Duo Maxwell was buried in a small quiet cemetery behind the church. It was what Duo would have wanted, and Wufei did not object. Wufei did not object to anything regarding the funeral. 

All the Preventers attended the funeral. A posthumous Badge of Commendation was conferred upon the late Duo Maxwell, and Wufei received it for him. 

The ceremony and funeral ran with quiet efficiency. Few words were spoken; the only sounds were that of the quiet thrill of crickets and the occasional hushed sobs. 

Hilde did not cry. Her tears were all used up in the months Duo had laid in the hospital. Her eyes were fixed on the ground; she looked up only when Wufei came up to her. He spoke to her briefly and placed his hand on her shoulder. At this, Hilde did look as if she might cry, but she only nodded tightly, even attempting a smile that dimmed before it could even touch her lips. 

Everyone was else was strangely silent, as if afraid to intrude. Heero and Trowa both stared unblinkingly at the headstone. As did Lady Une. Her normally solemn face had softened with the regret for the tragedy of a death far too young. Noin's head was bowed; her whole body tensed. Zechs stood beside her, speaking in low tones, comforting her as best as he could. 

Quatre watched all of this with surprising calm. Maybe he was too numbed, he wasn't sure. He thought he might cry, but he hadn't. But he did feel deeply sorry for Noin. It wasn't her fault, but no one could convince her otherwise. 

He continued watching. Wufei walked up to Noin as he had done with Hilde, but this time he did more. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Noin, a silent offering of forgiveness, if there was any need for it. The woman shook with silent weeping in Wufei's embrace. From somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, Quatre acknowledged the irony of the whole situation. The one person who should be the one most devastated was also the one doing the rounds, reassuring anyone who needed the comfort. 

"Are you sure, Quatre?"

The Arabian man turned. "He can't be left alone now," he said levelly. 

"He might not want to."

Quatre let that sink in, before shifting his gaze back onto the Chinese man some distance away. "Look at him, Trowa. Can't you see he's just holding everything back? He can't be left alone. I will not leave him alone."

Trowa was silent for a moment. His green eyes bore into Quatre. "Perhaps," he said at length. 

  
++++++++++

  
Five days.

"...come in!" Quatre said with all cheerful patron formality as he could possibly muster. He led the way into the large bedroom, pointing to the various furniture and fittings as he did so. "Look, Wufei. There's the dressing table, the wardrobe. Feel free to use them as you please. Oh! And your bed of course. Do you like the bedspread? Trowa and I spent the whole day picking out the colour. Isn't it beautiful? We're not sure if you like it, but we thought it's such a nice, warm colour, that you surely would. And uhm, oh! There's – "

"Quatre."

The Arabian man wheeled around a little too quickly. "Yes?" he said, his eyes wide with ill-disguised anxiety. 

"Everything is perfect," Wufei went over to the bed, smoothing one hand down the thick coverlet. "This bed is so big it can fit four of me," he turned his head and smiled at Quatre. "Or five, do you think?"

Quatre laughed, a little too loudly for the drowning silence in the room. "Five is an exaggeration, don't you think?" he tried to copy Wufei's light tone. "If there's anything, anything at all, you have to come to me or Trowa."

Wufei's raven head nodded. "I will, Quatre."

"Wufei, if there's *anything* – "

"Quatre, he'd be fine," a quiet voice interrupted and with the accompaniment of soft green eyes, it had the effect of easing any tension over them. "Shall we leave him to his packing?"

"we should," the Arabian man agreed at length, and reluctantly so. "Lunch would be ready in an hour, Wufei. Would you like us to come fetch you?"

"Oh no, it's all right, Quatre. I will be at the table on time. See you in an hour."

Gently but firmly, Trowa steered Quatre towards the door. 

It was not until the men had left, and the door fully slide close behind them, that the smile on toast-coloured lips was allowed to crack. 

  
++++++++++

  
Four days.

The leave was forced, insisted by Quatre. Heero refused to stop playing bodyguard and Quatre left him alone. Trowa and Wufei however, especially Wufei, Quatre would hear of nothing but at least several days of reprieve for both of them. Trowa suspected it was Quatre himself who needed the reprieve most of all. 

"I told you, Trowa. I heard him!"

Trowa closed his eyes wearily. 

"Don't you believe me?"

"I do." 

"He was talking to himself! How could he be talking to himself?" Quatre's voice sailed high with anxiety. "Was he talking to Duo?"

"That's enough, Quatre!" 

Cerulean eyes widened at the sudden display of anger from his lover. Breath catching sharply in his throat, Quatre turned his face away. "I'm sorry" he said softly. "I can't feel anything from himI tried! But I just can't"

Arms curled around Quatre, the forceful tenderness of that embrace only drawing even more silent sobs from him. Curling into Trowa's chest, he shook, his frame heaving with dry weeping. He couldn't cry no matter how he tried, and each tear that might have been shed remained buried within him, becoming heavier and heavier until he felt like was crushed under their weight. 

"You don't have to be strong, Quatre," Trowa's whisper soothed him like a caress. "Not all the time. Not now"

"I miss Duo so much, Trowa" 

"I know"

The sudden crash brought them whirling around. They saw Wufei standing on the curving stairway, frozen mid-action in snatching up the book that he had dropped. Realising he had disturbed them, the Chinese man hurriedly clutched the offending book to his chest, his cheeks pale with consternation. 

How long had Wufei been standing there watching them? Trowa's verdant gaze grew even darker in troubled contemplation as he studied the Chinese man fidgeting so awkwardly on the stairway, staring down at them with that indecipherable expression. The dark-haired man just stood there, his uncomfortable shifting on his feet starkly at odds with the smile that stretched his lips. 

"Did I interrupt you?" Wufei said, still hesitating on the stairway. 

"Of course not!" Quatre protested. "Why would you interrupt us?"

"Are you sure?" This time, Wufei's gaze and words were both directed at Trowa, as if wanting to seek rightful permission from the second master of the house.

"Dinner is ready, Wufei. You aren't interrupting," Trowa beckoned, grateful when Wufei obeyed without further word. Only Wufei's acquiescence could temper Quatre's grief. Perhaps he was being selfish by thinking this way, but he was thankful for anything right now that pull Quatre away from the brink into hysteria. 

The dinner table felt strangely empty with three persons, something which never struck Trowa even when it was just him and Quatre. Not that Quatre didn't try to keep the conversation flowing. He talked often, laughed, ladled food into Wufei's bowl, bade the Chinese man to eat even as few morsels were actually disappearing. 

"Oh, there's no need," Wufei objected gently when Quatre tried, for the umpteenth time, to pile his bowl with another piece of chicken. "I can do this by myself." Saying so, he reached over the various crockery on the table. 

"Wufei"

//Don't.// Trowa willed his lover to keep his quiet.

"Wufei, your"

Blank onyx eyes blinked as Wufei looked down to where Quatre was helplessly staring. His sleeve. The white silk, so pristine in its uncompromising colour and hanging so heavily from delicate wrist, was in danger of dipping into the gravy of some dish. 

"Oh!" Wufei exclaimed softly, quickly retracting his arm before the silk could be stained. His hands dropped uselessly to his side and he quickly sat down, so the table could cover what his carelessness couldn't.

"Wufei, you" Quatre made a move towards the Chinese man, but hesitated when the latter recoiled. "Haven't you been eating?"

"I have, Quatre" the normally resonant tenor sounded hollow, thin. "More than you think. Come, shall we finish our dinner?"

Trowa lowered his head so he couldn't see the distress on Quatre's faceand the pained denial on Wufei's. There was nothing to say after Wufei's thinly-veiled plea for them to keep façade going. 

There was also no hiding from what they all saw just earlier. That something as innocuous as sleeves could say so much when they hang beyond the knuckles and how the frame within the silk had shrunken so much it looked more apparition than human. 

A ghost – that was what Wufei had became. 

  
++++++++++

  
Two days.

Heero Yuy took the cup from his former enemy and comrade. "Thank you," he said simply, raising the rim to his lips. 

"You're welcome!"

Tawny fingers stilled for a moment, the cup pausing mid-way back to table, before resuming its journey. He might know all that much about the repercussions of surviving after death, but surely such cheeriness could not be one of the symptoms?

Heero discreetly observed the other two men seated in the living room with he and Wufei. He had never seen the pair looking quite as stricken as they did now. Quatre was glancing nervously at Wufei every few seconds, and Trowa was doing it to Quatre with the same regularity and anxiety. Heero's gaze noted the empty chair next to Wufei, and how starkly it stood out, as if mocking all of them that what might have once been a quintet was only four now. 

Wufei appeared oblivious to it all. Raising his eyes to meet Heero, he smiled and held up his cup. "Again? It's not often the great Yuy visits," his tone was devoid of any cynicism or sarcasm that might have been present before D – 

Lips thinning into a grim line, Heero raised his own cup. 

"How is Relena?" Wufei said.

"She's coping," Heero answered just as simply. "Hilde has not returned to the HQ. Noin had wanted to leave, but she took back her resignation letter."

"I'm relieved to hear that," Wufei nodded slowly. His brow cleared momentarily, as if finally laying to rest some invisible burden. 

There was no right time to ask this, therefore it had to be asked now. Heero set down his cup and leaned forward, carefully making sure onyx eyes couldn't look away even if they wanted to. "When are you coming back?"

Wufei smiled, one that looked even more forced than it already was. "I'm not going back."

"Why not?"

Smile trembling, Wufei tried to brush it off, and yet was unable to break that cobalt gaze on him. "I'm just notgoing back."

"Explain."

At this, the Chinese man looked lost. He tugged at his sleeves, mouth opening, then closing again as if unable to decide what to say. Finally, he stared down at his hands, and actually laughed. It was unmistakable, that sound. "The HQ doesn't need me anymore," he said. "Besides, DDuo, he"

That was the first time Wufei had uttered that name since the funeral. 

"Duo still needs me around," Wufei continued softly, his tone almost dreamy, as if he were speaking to himself. "He still needs me. It's Tuesday today. Every Tuesday, there would be a man that passes by where we live, selling handmade ice-cream. Duo always insists we get some of thatand always chocolate. Duo loves chocolate, do you know? No other flavour, but chocolate."

"Wufei"

"I will always get it for him, just to see him smile. He likes to watch me eat it too, and I always dohe doesn't know I hate ice-cream. But it's bettersome things he doesn't knowand some things I don't"

It was as if they were all trapped in a maelstrom, emotions and memories both dragging them in a downward spiral of pain. Wufei, head bowed, arms wrapped around himself, words spilling like a torrent from his lips, and with each pronunciation of Duo's name, his shaking becoming worse and worse until it seemed the words were eating him alive. Quatre looking on with wide, fear-rimmed eyes, one hand clutching his chest, mouth opened and breathing in raspy breaths. And Trowa and Heero, both grim-faced, silent, and unable to break the spell.

"and do you know that Duo loves the song from leaves? You don't, do you? He thinks it's the most beautifuleven more than what comes from pianos, violins, even the flute" The raven head tossed back with a high peal of laughter. "Can you imagine? Something as simple as a leaf, Duo loves it like it's a treasure" the laughter stuttered and the wide-open mouth gasped, struggling to fit words between mirth. "Don't you all think it's strange? That I'm thinking of this now? Don't you?"

"Stop" Quatre begged hoarsely. He was almost doubled over and so pale he was white. Long arms immediately went around him, but they did nothing to ease his agony. 

"But Quatre," Onyx eyes gleamed so brightly they might have been tear-drenched, or blind with hysteria. "Don't you see? Duo – "

"Duo is dead."

Wufei 's hands shook, spilling the coffee. 

"Did you hear me, Wufei?" Heero got up from his seat in one sharp movement. "I said Duo is dead." His voice was brittle with anger.

There was just one moment of terrible silence. Just that fleeting expanse of time where Heero's words hung in the air like a death knell, and in its tone of finality, the bitter irony that all that happened was simply that the truth was said. 

Hands reached down and clamped around Wufei's arms like steel. They shook him hard, then hauled him up so he was standing. Blazing Prussian blue drilled into ebon ones. "Look at me. And listen to me. Duo is dead."

"Heero!" Quatre shook himself free of Trowa's grasp. "Stop it!" 

"Quatre!"

"Let go of me – and Heero, stop it!"

A soft sound from Wufei silenced the room. It might have been a sob, or another laugh, nobody knew, but Wufei was staring up into Heero's pained gaze, and mouthing words which had no sound. 

"I know."

The unmoving Chinese man was eased into a loose, almost-embrace – the best and closest thing to a hug the Perfect Soldier was capable of. 

  
++++++++++

  
On the seventh day after Duo Maxwell's funeral, Wufei left. 

Trowa had woken up, gone to check on the man, and found the room empty, the bed largely untouched. He told Quatre only after the Arabian had woken up well into the late afternoon. 

Wufei's clothes and belonging were all gone, leaving behind only a piece of canvas rolled into a loose scroll. It was pulled open by frantic hands, its content roved over by anguished cerulean eyes. 

"Trowa! Why didn't you wake me ? Come and look at this! Wufei – he – "

Quatre's voice died in his throat when he understood that the silence from his lover meant that not only had Trowa seen the painting, but also that he had chosen to let it be. 

"I'm – I'm not going to let that happen!" Quatre hissed, barely able to speak coherently, and ran out of the room, leaving Trowa standing at the doorway. 

  
++++++++++

  
He knew instinctively where to find Wufei, and he drove like a madman, flooring the accelerator so hard he could hear the protesting screech of tyres. 

//Wait for me, Wufei.//

He reached the house – that one that Wufei and Duo shared. Hands trembling badly, he could only manoeuvre the door open after several failed attempts. He flung it open. 

The emptiness made him hang back, suddenly afraid. It was tangible to him; he could touch it and it could touch him, reaching into him with cold fingers, clenching around his chest so he could hardly breathe. The emptiness mocked him, at once laughing with both Duo and Wufei's voices, and then whispering their most intimate shared moments into his ears. 

Gasping, he clutched at his head. 

Then he heard it, even through his hands. It sounded like someone's soft hummingno, not someone. 

_and do you know that Duo loves the songs from leaves?_

The song. Heavier than the voice of his violin, and more sorrowful than Trowa's flute. 

"Quatre?"

He took an unsteady step forward, towards the shadowy figure that emerged from the darkened hallway. "Wufei" he held out his hands. "Come home with me, please."

The figure moved through stripes of dim sunlight and shadow. 

"I'm going home with Duo."

Quatre saw the single blade of emerald-green clutched in copper hand. "You can't" he shook his head to say what he couldn't with voice. The fingers were still in his chest, constricting him. 

Wufei stepped into his vision, and Quatre saw him for all he was. A pale, weary man wasted by grief, and yet still standing with a conviction that could not be shaken. 

"Don't doubt me, Quatre," Wufei said softly. 

Quatre felt his eyes brimming as he felt the Chinese man's hands on his shoulders. 

"Let me go."

"No!" 

He didn't feel himself moving; he just knew his arms were around Wufei and he was hugging him fiercely. His eyes were stinging so badly he could hardly see but he desperately blinked back his tears, determined to reach for his last shred of self-resolve. "You can't go! We need you more than Duo does! You can't go!"

"You're wrong, Quatre. I'm the one who needs Duo more than you need me."

The tears fell then and Quatre made no move to stop them. For that moment, he gave in to the pain in his heart and wept. Wufei's hands could comfort him only so much; just like last embraces could remain only in memory once their warmth had cooled. 

Wufei's arms wrapped around him – a warm, solid pressure – hands stroking his back as if each gentle caress could take away a little more of the hurt. And Quatre realised Wufei was comforting him like he had done with Hilde, and Noin. He drew their pain, their grief, their tears, into himself until all they could feel was a numbing sadness, and all that was left of him was a shell, and in its fragility his unwavering love for Duo. 

Quatre didn't know how much time had passed before the tears ceased. His tears were all spent. He released Wufei, his arms falling to his sides, and he stepped aside. 

They stared at each other, now just holding each other with eyes alone, and in the silence the understanding was mutually felt. 

"Tell" Quatre's voice wavered ever so slightly. "Tell himwe said hello." 

Wufei's dark eyes glimmered in the fading sunlight. His lips trembled as if he would say something, but finally curled up into a faint smile. A softly beautiful smile that touched his eyes in a way that it hadn't for so long. Bittersweet and sad, yet so genuine it pierced right through Quatre's heart. 

Wufei nodded just once; then he stepped through the doorway and out. 

He never looked back. 

For a long, long time, till it felt like he had been there forever, Quatre stood by the door, watching as his friend slowly disappeared into the twilight. A fading white speck in the indigo blue. He lifted a hand and pressed it to his chest. 

And he found he had the strength to whisper his goodbye even as the sky darkened and he could see Wufei no more. 

  
++++++++++

  
The house was bought over and kept under the name Barton-Winner, and not to be sold to for as long as the new owners were still alive. They decided on this together, both convinced that it would have been what the Maxwell-Changs would have wanted. 

The painting they kept it rolled up in a scroll, tied with silk and stored in a safe. The rest of the house they left untouched, except for weekly cleanings that they did themselves. 

He lifted the recorder and played it. He had heard it so many times he could knew exactly when each word was said, and the mouth from whence it came. He learnt the rising and falling cadences of the two voices, each little pause between the words, each breath, the inflections of the laughter that punctuated the lines. But he liked to hear it every now and again, just to match his memories to these recorded mementoes. 

There was a faint hiss and cackle, then like ghosts from the past, voices floated from the device. Smiling to himself, he placed it on the desk – ebony, Wufei's favoured and a gift from Duo. He turned the volume up, slowly getting to his feet. His husband was returning from work soon, and he needed to be home in time. 

He pulled the door open, pausing for just a moment to hear the voices echoing through the air. 

_"How do you do. This is the Chang-Maxwell Resi – "_

_"Sheesh! Are you giving a talk or what? Hand it over! Just – hand – oww! – give it up already! AhemHi! This is the Maxwell-Chang Playground – "_

_"Playground?"_

_"Shh! Anyway, this is our place and the reasons why you're getting this message is because we're either not at home, or we're making out – "_

_"Excuse me!"_

_"Most probably making out. So, all you gotta do is just leave us a voice note, or a vid message. We prefer vid, so we can see which gorgeous hunk is calling – "_

_"All right, that's enough!"_

_"Christ, Fei, you're so anal!"_

_"I know, and you know that too."_

_"Uh-huhBut I love ya' anyway!"_

_"I lo – wait, is it still running? It is! Turn it off. Don't argue with me, Duo. Turn. It. Off!"_

_"Say it! Or I'll leave the sex-alicious details of what exactly we do in b – "_

_"Oh for heaven's sake! I love you! Now, turn it off!"_

A soft click and the door slid shut.

  
********** ********** 

_  
See you, Mr Winner_

He sat unmoving for a very long time, looking out of the window from his chair. He could barely see them as they strolled down the street that stretched ahead of his shop. His eyes were failing, but he could hear them. All he needed was to hear them. 

There...their youthful voices, ringing with the exuberance of boyhood. And occasionally, just sometimes, he could also hear the haunting notes of a distant, age-old melody floating between their voices. 

"I have never doubted you," he whispered. 

His words hung in the thick, warm air of the summer evening. 

He watched them a little longer, his tired eyes straining against the low, setting rays, until their figures faded into the distance and their bright laughter could no longer be heard.

One trembling hand clutched at the roll of yellowed canvas that he had kept and treasured over every year, every month, every day; and the other he pressed to his heart, as he had done some fifty years ago. 

  
++++++++++

  
The tune drifting on the wind was, at first, so soft it could only be caught by the keenest ears. It sounded like a whimsical sigh, a child's laugh, a couple's whispered sweet nothings, transcending earthliness, carried over time.

Still it floated on the wind, this song of leaves. 

The turn of a curly, russet head, and violet eyes sparkled with wistful daydreaming. "That was so beautifulI feel like I've heard that song before..."

Fingers and leaf fell away from equally wistful, smiling lips, and a second voice laughed softly. "I feel like I've played this song before."

  
++++++++++

  
The air was still, serene as the smile on the aged face. 

The scroll slipped from slack, gnarled hands, falling to the ground with a soft, whispery thud. The edges fell open, uncurling hesitantly, as if it was for that one brief moment, revealing its secret to the prying eyes of the world.

A young man sat perched on a wooden rail, his amethyst gaze cast into the distance, a soft smile playing on his generous mouth. His hair was unravelled; thick, long waves of russet brown that fanned around him like a blanket. His cheek rested against the head of his companion, a gesture that was mirrored in arms twined around slender waist, legs nudged against one another in tender playfulness. The second man was shorter, smaller and no less ethereal in form and feature. His eyes, midnight black, too gazed dreamily at something beyond the canvas's scope. 

They seemed so otherworldly, so at peace, immortalised forever in their perfect contention in each other's presence. Even this was reflected in dainty curlicues of faded blank ink scrawled on the border of that painting:

_I've heard all these stories, the tales of the many lifetimes a soul traverses. _

_They say sometimes a love can be so strong it crosses from one lifetime to another. Perhaps my love can guide me to him in the next lifetime. I dare not think I might have a love that is deep enough, but one can always hope._

_I can always hope._

As the sun began to slip past the horizon, the last ray of light slipped into the quietness, casting its golden touch over the faded words, before stealing away. 

~*~ fin ~*~  
September 2003

* * *


End file.
